


Пустое поле

by Allie2019



Category: Metro 2033 & Related Fandoms
Genre: I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Why Did I Write This?, mute artyom, post-last light good ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-08 03:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allie2019/pseuds/Allie2019
Summary: Pavel should have forgotten years ago but Artyom still haunts him.





	Пустое поле

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I know the title's in Russian but that's just because it sounds cooler than "the/an empty field" 
> 
> 2\. I'm pretty bad at summarizing my work, sorry about that. 
> 
> 3\. I'm sure there are plenty of tags that fit but I'm sleep deprived and can't think of any. 
> 
> 4\. So, since this is my first time posting fanfiction, I would greatly appreciate if anyone were to leave constructive criticism in the comments. 
> 
> 5\. Also, I sincerely apologize for any mistakes, English isn't my first language, so I do mess up fairly often and I was very tired when I edited this piece. If you see mistakes, please point it out and I'll edit it. 
> 
> 6\. When I first wrote this, I was so proud of it and thought it was the best thing I've ever written but now I'm just like meh, it's pretty bad but I'm posting it anyway. 
> 
> 7\. I take no credit for pretty much anything in this work, I've been greatly inspired by every single Artyom/Pavel fic I've read on AO3, so shoutout to all of you who've written it. Thank you.

Years after the war with Hanza and the Order, years after the Red Line had begun falling apart, years after he nearly died on the Red Square, died to the person who later would save him, years after he should have let go, years later, Pavel still thinks about him. Years after he has tried to settle down, years after he has continuously failed and accepted that he's meant to be alone, (he must have dated every single unmarried woman on the Red Line at this point), the same man still appears in his mind when his friends ask Pavel how it comes he still hasn't found the right woman and years later, he still struggles with not saying it aloud. "Oh, because of Artyom." 

The answer is so obvious, it's almost weird how others can't notice it, see that rests on Pavel's lips, just waiting, anticipating to be said out loud. He tried to once, when he had drunk more vodka under one night than what anyone should do in their entire lifetime. It was beyond pathetic. Anatol looked at him with concerned eyes as Pavel sobbed while sharing the story of Artyom and their short-lived friendship. He left out all the details he himself hadn't wanted to think about, all the memories and thoughts that were just fantasies, that should have come to life but never did. He was so drunk that he had forgotten about it until Anatol quietly mentioned it the next morning. Pavel gave him three magazines to never say it to any soul ever again, dead or living, if he as much heard as heard the name 'Artyom' coming out of Anatol's mouth, he would personally and painfully end the man's life. They never spoke again, since Pavel made sure to avoid him, and as far as Pavel is concerned, Anatol kept his mouth shut until he died on a mission two years later. As guilty as he felt for it, Pavel couldn't help but feel relief when the news was delivered. 

And years after he should have died, Pavel lives. "At least I am alive and he is alive," he tells himself every night, before falling asleep and dreaming about just him. Sometimes the dreams are terrifying nightmares, horrifying beasts that haunt him, the Dark One that was at Oktyabrskaya tries to kill him, the dark hands want to strangle him. Artyom is there, he watches it all with his dark, mellow eyes, that are sometimes filled with sorrow, sometimes with hatred and sometimes with glee. Sometimes, Artyom is the one that hunts him, his sharp knife chases him down dark tunnels, so black that he can't see his own hands in front of him. Unlike the dark ones, Artyom never runs, he never moves fast. He sneaks in his regular fashion, slowly, quietly, and he still gets closer every second. Pavel can't run. He can't move. He fears Artyom and at the same time, wants nothing more than for him to find Pavel. 

But sometimes, the dreams aren't nightmares. And then, they hurt the most. Pavel would take any death, any beast or monster, any knife to his chest, any bullet to his head over the pain that fills his chest when he wakes up after a dream with Artyom, alone in his bed and the realization dawns on him once again; it was just a dream, dreams are the closest thing he'll ever get to see Artyom. Years later, it still hurts. 

Living isn't the same thing as being alive and sometimes he wonders if he's actually alive. He's aimlessly walking through life without a purpose, is he really living? Is he nothing more than a machine that breathes and moves. The purpose, the point of life is right in front of him, yet constantly only in his head, he can see it, him, but he can't touch him, interact with him. Artyom is a ghost in his mind. 

Years after he should have, Pavel leaves the Red Line. Not forever, but more and more frequently. He leaves the Metro, climbs up the long, endless escalators, his lungs burn and his legs burn and he can't stand up and he's just going to take one more step before he lets his body fall backward, just one more step and then he's there, on the surface. It wasn't until his 34th day he noticed he had walked up the entire escalator without coughing once. It felt like a victory. Now, on his 115th day, he can run up without the word "pain" once reaching his thoughts.

Pavel doesn't know why he does this. He can't explain the overwhelming feeling that fills him when he's in the Metro, the claustrophobia that grabs his body in a cold, paralyzing grip, steals his breath directly out of his lungs as it darkly whispers in his ear.   
"There isn't more to life than this," it says. He lives in the Metro and he dies in the Metro. How ironic, the only person that could make the pain worth suffering through is the root of the pain. He sneers for himself as he walks over the streets. They're empty, the weather and radiation and other stalkers have since long cleared them. 

When he left the Metro for the first time, not to go on a mission but to just walk, to just be, to breathe dangerous air for no other reason than that he could, Pavel felt a glimpse of freedom. They call him insane on the Red Line, they tell him that he's killing himself but Pavel stopped listening a long time ago. Something is calling for him on the surface. Pavel likes to pretend it's someone. Of course, he doesn't believe in souls or the supernatural, no species can contact him through the mind alone and yet, he pretends. When it comes to Artyom, all Pavel can do is pretending and playing games and creating imaginary fantasies. He wonders if he has gone insane. He wonders if it matters. 

In the outskirts of Moscow, there is a field that Pavel visits nearly every day. He has seen it during sunrise and sunset, drowning under the rain and glittering under sunshine. Today it's just normal. The sky is gray, the grass is green. The radiation is better there, he doesn't need his gas mask all the time. Sometimes he takes it off and breathes unfiltered air, sometimes he pretends that it's pre-war and he is there with his friend Artyom whom he wanted to show this amazing, really cool field, we can do anything there, it's so calming, I know you need a break from city life. He's lying on the ground, staring at the sun and Artyom lies just a few meters from him, nearly asleep, but if Pavel opens his mouth and says something, he will turn his head towards him and listen. Pavel never speaks though, because then the illusion would be broken and reality would come crashing back to him, the reality of emptiness and loneliness, so he just lies there with his eyes closed and breathes loudly, aware that every time he inhales, he's one step closer to death. One time, he could swear that he saw someone lying in the grass next to him when he turned his head and squinted his eyes. And he wanted to look, he wanted to see him more clearly (was it really him? It couldn't be but who else would it be?), instead, he closed his eyes and he thinks he fell asleep because when he opened them again, the sky was black and the sun was gone. He was freezing and hurried back to the Metro. To his home. 

But today, the empty field is his home. Since he left the military, Pavel can spend all day doing whatever he feels like doing, when he's not on the mushroom farm or cleaning the floor and walls, he's free. The dream he had tonight was the worst one in a while, he woke up with an ache in his chest, stupid images still playing on repeat inside his stupid head and he wanted nothing more than for them to stay there all day, he wanted them to turn into memories, to be real. But Pavel has learned. He pushed them away as soon as he realized he was awake, forced himself to forget about them. He doesn't want to and he wants to but he can't relive that period when he thought about the same dream for two weeks in a row, every waking minute of his life until he realized that was losing the concept of reality. When a friend --he can't remember who-- pointed out that he had lost weight, and someone else that he always seemed tired, Pavel realized he wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping, wasn't living. It took effort, but ever since, he has not once let a dream, a hope, a fantasy stay in his head for longer than mere minutes. 

While approaching the field, Pavel immediately knows when he isn't alone. It isn't a sense that can be translated into words, it's not a sound, he doesn't see anyone, nothing in the air he breathes tastes differently. And yet he knows. It's his first time ever encountering anyone else on the field and for a second, he considers going home again. The magic will be ruined when there's somebody else there, it can't be the same. But something calls on him and he continues to walk, feeling closer than ever to... to what, he does not know, but maybe it is the thing that has been calling on him for months, no for years. Without knowing why Pavel starts walking faster, running. He stumbles over the field, he has to see the person, he has to know, could it be, could it really be? And then he stops. 

On the field, practically in the middle of the green grassland, he stands. Pavel instantly recognizes him behind his gas mask, from his posture alone, the way he lets his arms effortlessly rest, the way he tilts his head lightly to his left. Before Pavel can even turn around and run back, Artyom sees him too. He raises his hand and waves. It's impossible to tell whether Artyom knows it's him, Pavel, the traitor, the murderer, the man who tried to murder him or whether he thinks it's just a random stalker. Nonetheless, Pavel waves back, hesitantly. His heart is hammering against his chest, faster than what Pavel knew was possible and yet he can't make himself walk faster. All his energy is gone and he is pure agony. He wants to run, but instead, he walks slowly. If Artyom is impatient, he doesn't show it. He waits for Pavel with his arms down, standing straight. Pavel can't look at him. He stares at the ground instead, treads over grass and flowers. When he's 2 meters from Artyom, he raises his head. It's hard to make eye contact through the mask, but Artyom recognizes him without a doubt, Pavel sees it in the way the emotions in his eyes shift, maybe he recognized Pavel with the same ease as Pavel recognized him. Probably not, to be fair, Artyom hasn't spent nearly every waking hour of his life thinking about him, he hasn't dreamed of Pavel every night. Pavel tries to take a deep and relaxing breath, he tries to ignore Artyom's gaze at him, but it's impossible, his chest tightens and he takes off his gas mask. Artyom gives him a weird look, eyes darting between Pavel's eyes and the mask in his hand. 

"I-It's alright here. The radiation," Pavel says. Artyom nods and takes his mask off. A shockwave goes through Pavel's body as their eyes meet. 

"Uh... good afternoon," Pavel then says. Artyom nods again, says hello back in his quiet language. 

"Nice to see you again, uh, it's been a while," Pavel says because he doesn't know what else there is to say. Artyom smiles, he even makes an inaudible laugh, it's cold and ironic but when Pavel doesn't look away, because he can't, his green eyes soften and the smile becomes genuine. Pavel can't help but childishly smile too. Artyom shrugs his shoulders and sits down on the soft grass beneath them, Pavel quickly follows his example. They look at each other for a few seconds. Artyom isn't angry, he isn't upset. His eyes aren't filled with hatred or disgust. Pavel isn't filled with any emotion. The situation is too much. He can't think straight, can't think at all, as he looks at Artyom. 

"How are you?" he asks. Artyom smiles and shrugs his shoulders, apologizing with his eyes. Pavel wants to slap himself. 

"Are you doing alright?" he tries instead. Artyom's smile becomes wider and he nods. He doesn't look a day older than he did that day on the Bolshoi Teatr when Pavel last saw him smile. It brings out painful memories and this time, Pavel doesn't shove them away. He lets himself indulge in them fully, revisits Artyom's interested smile as he looks at the show, his polite as he met the girls behind the stage, his grateful as he looked at the food. His uncomfortable as Pavel encouraged him to drink more and more. But now it is just a happy, relaxed smile.

"I'm fine too, actually, uh, yeah, I feel alright," Pavel says. Artyom nods again as if to say "good." He keeps looking at him, does he want Pavel to say something? 

"You don't hate me?" Pavel finally has to ask when the pressure becomes too much, when he thinks that he's going to collapse from the lack of air. Artyom shakes his head. 

"You don't hate me?" Pavel has to say again because he can't understand. How can he not? Artyom counts on his fingers. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. He holds up his hand. Five years. Pavel's heart sinks and he can feel himself blush, he looks away from Artyom's green orbs and hides his face behind his hands. Artyom doesn't care anymore, of course, he doesn't. Maybe he never cared enough to hate Pavel, maybe he just saw him as one of many enemies, one whom Artyom saved just because he wasn't in the mood for killing, maybe Artyom is never in the mood for killing and just killed when he was forced to, maybe he forgot about Pavel in the same second as he left the Red Square and the only reason he isn't running away now is because he doesn't mind some company. 

"Right, I should have, I should understand, I'm sorry, it's just..." He trails off and looks down on the ground. Artyom touches his arm, looks at him in confusion, gestures at him to continue. Sweat breaks out on Pavel's body, Artyom is waiting and Pavel has no idea what to tell him, he can't lie, but the truth is too shallow, too trivial, too self-centered. "I just thought that you still cared about me because I think about you literally every day," If he wouldn't run away, Artyom would at least assume that he was insane. He chooses the lighter version instead. 

"I'm sorry, I just didn't think... Of course, it's silly of me to ever think that you cared about me." Artyom shakes his head, then sighs, massage his temples for a second and begins to search through his pockets. Lights up and shows Pavel a simple pen in his hand. He tugs up his sleeve, writes something on his arm. Black ink against his pale skin. 

"Maybe you shouldn't... The radiation..." Pavel says, but Artyom just snorts and shows Pavel his arm. 

"I do," he reads aloud. "Do wha-, right care." He is so focused on Artyom he almost forgets what they're talking about. Artyom nods. 

"But how? I haven't done anything worthy of you caring for me!" Artyom shakes his head again, then nods. Then he stays still for a few seconds. Writes again. 

"I need a reason?"

"I guess not... I just can't understand." Artyom shrugs his shoulders. Gestures energetically with his hands. Laughs a little. Pavel hardly understands what he means, he's busy focusing on Artyom instead, on the way his eyes light up as he gestures with his hands, making eye contact with Pavel, hoping he understands. 

"You're adorable," Pavel says before he can stop himself. Artyom's smile fades and he blushes, breaks their eye contact, Pavel probably does too, his cheeks become very hot and before he can say anything more, correct himself, improve the situation, Artyom grabs his sleeve and writes on his arm. 

"You too."Pavel doesn't know where to look, doesn't know what to say but he doesn't have to know. Artyom lies down on the ground, grabs Pavel's arm, touches him for the third time in five years and every time he does Pavel feels electricity and warmth and it hurts but he craves it and it doesn't hurt and he wants nothing more than for Artyom to touch his skin again, and Artyom drags Pavel down with him and now they're both staring at the sky and Pavel is thankful that it's still gray and that he doesn't need sunglasses and that Artyom doesn't need his so he can stare into those green eyes forever. They're greener than the grass, greener than anything Pavel has ever seen and now they are everything that Pavel sees. 

"I want to keep it that way..." he mumbles. Artyom looks at him, mouths "What?" Pavel can't read much on lips save that little word he hears every day, "what?" 

"Oh, nothing," he tries to say. "Just thought out loud." Artyom raises his eyebrows, "really?" 

"Yeah, nothing important," Pavel reassures him. Artyom frowns, shrugs his shoulders, doesn't believe him but knows it's not worth arguing over. 

"Is this, is this the first time you're here?" Pavel asks, already knowing the answer. Artyom shakes his head, holds up two fingers. 

"Second? It was you, you were there, right, that time, when I, I was sleeping." Pavel doesn't know why forming a coherent sentence suddenly is impossible and his cheeks turn hot again but Artyom laughs about it before he nods. 

"I thought I was dreaming. Why?" Artyom shrugs again. 

"You don't, you don't know? Did you see me before, after?" Pavel asks because he needs to know. Artyom waits a few seconds before he hesitantly nods. Pavel exhales shakily. He wants nothing more than to know each time and at the same time he wants to never know, he doesn't want to find out that he has a million missed opportunities, a million times he could have seen him but didn't. 

"There's no point in knowing. But I just need to know. How many times?" Artyom holds up three, then four fingers. He shakes his head, changes it back to three. 

"3 times? Not too much." They both grow silent again. Pavel doesn't need to speak when he's with Artyom, there is calm in just lying still next to him. Maybe he's gone insane because he speaks anyway. 

"I fantasized about this moment so many times," he says. Artyom looks up, gives Pavel a look full of confusion. 

"Well, not like this, exactly, but I used to dream about us just lying here, staring at the sky." Artyom laughs a little, his warm and soft expression wraps itself around Pavel like a blanket. Carefully, with a trembling arm, Pavel reaches out his hand and places it on Artyom's thin wrist. He takes a sharp breath but doesn't react. Rolls over so that he is lying on his side, so they're looking at each other again. Pavel looks at Artyom's green, mellow eyes. He looks into Pavel's icy blue. Neither of them can help but smile. 

"This is all I ever wanted," Pavel says before he leans in, pulls Artyom so close by his wrist that their breaths mix. It's so warm, so comforting, Pavel never wants to leave. He places his arms around Artyom's waist. Artyom strokes Pavel over his hair which is embarrassingly long, he hasn't cut it since March last year, but when Artyom pulls his hand through it, it's the only length it ever needs to be. 

Is this it? Was happiness really this easy to find, was this really all he had to do? Regret overwhelms him, he should have gone looking for Artyom years ago, he should never have let go of him that time on the Red Square, he should have crawled after him, begging him to come back, he should never have given him to Korbut, he should have taken Artyom away, he should have ran away with him, he should have left the Red Line ages ago. How did it take him so long to realize that this is what life's supposed to be? 

When he finally gets to taste Artyom's soft lips, it is just right. Kissing Artyom wasn't like kissing a girl on the Red Line, nothing like Katya or Natasha with their cocky attitudes and large tits, nothing like Maria with her shy, worried eyes, constantly wondering whether she had done something wrong. It was nothing like Diana or Ludmila, nothing like any desperate, pathetic attempt at a romance with a woman, which always was an equally pathetic attempt at forgetting Artyom, at being happy despite knowing that the major component was missing. When he kisses Artyom, he realizes that he has wasted his life on the wrong thing, that he has spent years trying to forget the person who would bring him happiness, while it was right here with him. He had expected Artyom to be hesitant or reluctant, worried or ashamed, but he is as just as eager, if not more, than Pavel when he kisses him, lays his hand around Pavel's neck, the other one his shoulder. Artyom kisses rhythmically, steadily. After a minute, he pulls away, breathes heavily. Every muscle is Pavel's body relaxes. 

"Wow. Uh, that was... nice," Pavel says and Artyom chuckles, nods in agreement. And then Pavel isn't staring at the gray sky, he isn't even staring into Artyom's eyes, he closes his eyes and all he sees is black and all he feels is soft grass and the solid ground under him and Artyom's wrist against his palm and Artyom's hand on his arm and all he can hear is Artyom's slow, heavy breathing and Pavel doesn't want to disturb the silence but he has to speak, he needs to know, the question won't leave his mind. 

"Artyom?" he asks. Waits. Artyom looks up, turns his head towards Pavel. 

"Am I dreaming?" Artyom looks up, confused, then he shrugs his shoulders, shakes his head; does it matter?

"Maybe not. I just don't want to wake up." Artyom grips his hands around his wrists, pulls him closer again, so close so he has to squint his eyes when looking in Artyom's eyes, they are so green that the color blinds him. Pavel tries to not think and Artyom embraces him and Pavel embraces him back and they lie still for one minute, two minutes, five minutes and Artyom's warm breath against his neck sends shivers down his spine and he is so tired and it's so late, he just needs to stay here, for a second, no, for forever. He doesn't want to open his eyes again. He won't open his eyes again. 

The world is shaking, is he flying through the air, caught by a demon? It happened once, Pavel would have died had it been flying more than a few meters above the ground. 

Artyom's face comes into focus above him. No demon. Pavel slowly opens his eyes. He's still lying securely on the stable ground. It's raining now, a drizzle falls over the field. Pavel's hair is a little damp, but so is Artyom's. Maybe that's why he's waking him up. 

"I fell asleep?" Artyom nods. 

"You too?" Nods again. He reaches out his hand, wraps it around Pavel's hand and drags him up to a standing position. 

"You alright? Good. Uh, it's night, right? Where are we going? We need gas masks if we're leaving the field." Artyom stops, looks around for a few seconds until he founds them thrown on the grass a few meters away. Hands Pavel his, puts on his own. He continues to walk, seems to know the way. 

"We are we going, chuvak?" Pavel asks again. Artyom doesn't stop, he doesn't turn around, did he hear him? Is he upset, what's if he's trying to run away from Pavel but is afraid he will stalk him? 

"We can go to the Red Line, I know-" Artyom finally halts, turns around and shakes his head, Pavel can see in his eyes that he's smiling an exhausted smile. 

"Sorry, you're right, bad idea." Artyom doesn't display any indication that he disagrees. They walk side by side under silence, under the glittering stars and blue sky hidden behind dark, compact, suffocating, clouds. Pavel often has to wipe his gas mask free from rain, but it doesn't become annoying until he has to do it every minute. The rain is getting heavier, Artyom increases their speed.

"Where are we going, exactly?" he has to ask a third time both out of curiosity and out of worry. Are they going to VDNKh, to Artyom's home, to his wife, to his children?

"Are you married?" Pavel asks instead, maybe Artyom can't answer where his leading him, maybe he doesn't want to. Artyom stops abruptly, grips Pavel's arm, shakes his head aggressively. Of course, not, what do you think of me, that I'm some kind of cheater? 

"I didn't mean... me neither." A short nod is his only answer. Artyom searches through his pocket, sighs heavily, facepalms. 

"You forgot the pen?" He nods slowly, scoffs. A second later he smiles triumphantly, holds up another pen. It's a marker this time, not as fine as ink but who cares? Pavel gives Artyom his arm. "You sure?" Artyom's eyes ask him. Pavel nods. 

"Yeah, uh, I can always look at my arm if I forget your answer..." he says. Artyom shrugs his shoulders for what must be the millionth time today. 

"I'm sorry," Pavel says. "'Talking' with me must be a challenge." Artyom does a mix between shaking his head and nodding. They both laugh. He takes out the pen and writes:  
"It must be worse for you..." 

"Don't say that. I, uh, like, it's fun talking to you" Artyom shakes his head, giggles lightly, Pavel wonders if he blushes under the gas mask. Pavel also wonders how it's possible that he kissed Artyom just a few hours ago(Did he? It could have been his imagination, a fantasy created from breathing too much of irradiated air, he had thought it wasn't dangerous but actually doesn't know if it can cause hallucinations.) and still can't communicate a coherent and understandable sentence to him. 

Artyom continues to write, tightly gripping Pavel's arm for steadiness. "We're going..." He stops again as if he's contemplating what to tell Pavel. 

"To VDNKh?" He suggests. "To the Order? To Polis?" Artyom rejects all three alternatives, impatiently shaking his head. "Home," he finally writes down. The tip of the marker is chilly against Pavel's skin as he restlessly watches the words form. 

"Trust me," Artyom writes before he reaches out his gloved hand and looks at Pavel, asks him silently if he's coming. Pavel swallows the lump in his throat and without saying anything either, he takes Artyom's outstretched hand and they continue to walk through the streets of Moscow, now flooded with poisonous rain.

**Author's Note:**

> I always struggled with writing Artyom and one day it just hit me: Why bother? 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Sorry that this is so long, by the way. I thought it would be like 2k words before I started but apparently not. Don't know what else to write here, um, hope you enjoyed?   
Also, I know I sometimes do the longest run-on sentences but that's on purpose, I promise.


End file.
